Green Wings
by Maximilian Bonaparte
Summary: Taylor Hebert's older brother was a fixture in her life until their mother died. He joined the military after he graduated high school. Why did he have to leave her?
1. Chapter 1

The United States War machine and its NATO allies has left its mark all over the world. From Laos and the Philippines to Chad and Niger. From Iraq to Turkey. The War on Terror lasted far longer than anyone had expected. Even as Endbringers seemed to bring the nation to its knees, its military kept production of its greatest export, war. In the beginning, the intentions were while not altruistic, at least understandable and justified. To each soldier, it was always personal. They have seen the faces of their victims. The innocent. They have seen the horrors of what their enemy can do against their own neighbors. They would stone adulterers. They would burn non believers. They bullied their subjects into obedience. Dissent was quashed with violence and death.

Private First Class Scott Daniel Hebert was only 19 when he was first deployed to Sudan. He was very tall and thin when he first joined the military. Almost too light to be sent to boot camp. In the months since, the exercise and hearty eating filled him out somewhat. Now he was still thin, but not such that he was boney. It was a harsh word. "Deployment" has connotations of despair, of discontent and sparse accommodations. For Hebert and those like him, deployment consisted of being put up in hotel like rooms and working for 7 to 8 hours a day on mission and resting. At any time there were three or four ARSs in this particular part of Sudan at a time, all from his very small platoon consisting of less than 12 people. There were really more pilots than Airborne Reconnaissance Specialists in Sudan at the time.

PFC Hebert climbed into a very small aircraft carrying 2 duffle bags and a backpack behind another young man carrying radio encryption equipment. Hebert spent a few minutes fiddling with the equipment aboard the aircraft. Flip a switch here, a button there. The cramped cabin of the plane was filled to the brim with electronics and wires. Dim red and green lights were all through the inside of the aircraft, dimly illuminating Hebert as he moved about the cabin.

Scott was excited. Within the week he was going home. He missed his father and his baby sister dearly. When he first left Brockton Bay, he thought he'd never want to come back. Now however, he regretted all the times he dissed the place and couldn't wait to go back.

He was not allowed to tell his family that he was in Sudan, nor was he allowed to talk about what he did . He could tell them he was in Africa, and that he did support. He could not mention any operations in Africa. He could not tell his family how he once watched a US ranger fall in the middle of the night during a mission, having tripped in the darkness and was subsequently blown to bits by indirect fire. The IR camera on the NT-36G was very powerful. He could see the fingers on the hand that separated from the rest of the arm. He did not survive. Within 5 minutes after the strike, he had eyes on a POO site and was calling in Support by Fire. The Apaches destroyed the POO site. If the enemy fighters hadn't been hit the by missiles and killed, they would likely have died of cancer from the powerful IR laser he shined on them for close to 10 minutes.

Tonight, Scott was going to provide support for an operation the SF were conducting. A high profile target. Scott knew who he was, what kind of car he drove, where he lived, who his close associates were and where they slept. The operation would take approximately 4 hours. This guy was the leader of a terrorist cell with ties to Al-Qaeda. His men were responsible for the deaths of thousands of civilians and IEDs that have killed almost 100 soldiers in its 4 years of known operation.

If he used his walkie talkie Scott would know about it. If he called his mother on her cell phone he'd know. If he went to his shit shack he'd know. The village looked dead from above, as remote villages often were at night.

As this went, it went off without a hitch. A very successful mission. The target was captured along with 6 of his associates ripe for interrogation and the site was combed for information very quickly.

"So Hebert, what will you do once you get back home?" he heard through the chatter on the radio from one of his pilots. Chief Proctor.

"Well sir, I think I'll go back to drinking," Scott replied. A titter of laughter came through his headset from the Chief and the LT. LT Watson and Chief Procter were very friendly with Hebert. The familiarity they shared would be frowned upon in any other circles. "But I will be going back to Brockton Bay."

"Fuck man, I know that place is pretty fucked up from what I've heard."

"Some parts are, but it's where I grew up. I can't just never go back," Scott was not as spiteful about his place of birth as he once was, now that he had lived in Sudan for almost 6 months.

"What the fuck is that!" LT Watson was looking out the left window with alarm in his voice.

Approximately 75m to the North was what looked like… a man? Hebert knew it was likely a cape but what was he doing flying at 10,000 ft in the air? He approached the plane and the Chief started to steer away from the man, jerking them violently. He was dressed in warm looking clothes, an oxygen mask on his face reminiscent of what fighter pilots would wear.

Hebert could hear LT Watson shout to control that they had a man, a cape, approaching the aircraft. He was carrying two large metal poles and hefted them one after the other at our rotors and sped away. The plane gave a shudder as the propellers broke on the heavy poles and started shaking violently.

They were losing altitude fast. There would be no emergency landing except a crash. Hebert scrambled to get to the back of the plane where the emergency parachutes were. Hebert scrambled to put on the chute and get the others to the pilots. Once they had secured their chutes, and what gear they could recover they did a practiced sweep of the craft, destroying any software that might be recovered by an adversary and gave one last message before exiting the aircraft.

-SHADY-

Once they were on the ground, they buries the chutes and unpacked their weapons. They had 3 M4A1s and 3 M9 pistols. It could have been worse, Scott thought. They could have been stuck with just the pistols. They decided to move towards where they thought the SF group might be to meet up with them. They likely were already informed of our plane ditching and hopefully were directed to come search for us.

In years past, Parachutes were not issued to aircraft crew because it was too expensive and the likelihood of going down was fairly low. Until recently crewmembers accepted that if they went down, they had no hope of survival.

Even then, they were very poorly outfitted for any kind of operation except flying. They had no helmets, no ballistic vests, no kneebow pads and no NVGs. They had to stuff extra magazines in their pockets. They moved as quietly as they could through the deserts of Sudan.

Without warning they were taking contact from the rear. Scott nearly jumped out of his skin with a yelp. They all dropped to the ground and started shooting before they could even see what they were shooting at. They only had muzzle flashes to go by under the moonlight there were at least 10 different places they were coming from. They were close too. About 50 meters away.

Scott had never been in a firefight. Neither had Chief Proctor or LT Watson if he had to guess. They started shouting calls and responses. Scott choked on his responses, eventually resorting to shouting in a vaguely affirmative manner. They started bounding backwards one at a time. They made it 25 meters before LT Watson fell down and didn't get back up.

There were too many of them. Scott thought he was going to die right there as his friend just laid out with black wet staining his back in the dark. Crawling towards him through the sand with his face as low as he could hear Chief Proctor shouting at him to get up. LT Watson was definitely dead. The bullet had hit his heart. With a cry for vengeance and more than a little fear, Scott began shooting at the enemy, more rapidly than before. he could hear them approaching, their voices carrying over the noise to his ears. They were close enough that he could see them running towards him. Close. Less than 20m. Scott aimed his rifle and shot at the nearest man and hit him dead in the neck, right where the adam's apple might have been. Scott began crawling away as fast as he could abandoning the body of the Lieutenant with bullets flying over his head.

He didn't make it very far before someone struck him in the back of the head with an AK type stunning him. A strong body flipped him over and hit him in the face with the buttstock of his rifle and Scott blacked out.

-STAYSHADY-

When Scott woke, he knew he had a broken nose. His hands were zip tied and he was tied down to a chair. The room was constructed from cinder blocks. More like four walls and a tin roof with a dirt floor. It had no windows and no other openings except for a wooden door. Scott knew he would die. These people did not keep prisoners alive for long. Nobody who was capture that he knew of was ever recovered alive. He didn't know where Chief Proctor was. He hoped he was alive. A sudden crushing despair came over Scott. He would never see his family again.

 _No! I can't afford to give up now! I can still escape. I'm still alive._ He couldn't imagine how his father and sister would feel should he die. _For them._

An Arabic man came through the door. He had been expecting a Sudanese man, but this man was likely from Al-Qaeda and not this branch that was just targeted. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He had a pistol and a long knife on his hip.

"Oh look who's awake! I thought you would have died with how long you've slept, Private Hebert!" he spoke slightly accented English. Definitely not a Sudanese accent. He looked like he could have been the cape that took down their plane.

"You don't have to speak boy. I just wanted to have at look at you." He walked around me slowly. "You know when we captured you, you were putting up a pretty good fight. Only three Americans gave my men a spot of trouble. I lost 6 men to you." he was snarling at me by now.

"Tell me where your airfield is."

"I would need a map to show you," Scott said with a nasally and scratchy voice.

The man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it in front of me. It was a detailed map of the village and the surrounding area. "A bigger one would be better" Scott said.

"Shut up." He slapped me with the back of his hand. "You will tell me what I want to know."

"What do you want to know?"

"You will start simple by telling me where your airfield is and how many more NT-36s you have. And then you will tell me when the Americans will next leave their hovels." He has in Scott's face now. His dark eyes and beard like a shadow over a skull.

"I don't know all those things." Scott was obviously lying. It didn't matter to this man if he told the truth or not, he would still kill him. The only way for Scott to win was to deny any information he could from this man.

"We will see." The man likely did not know just how much Scott knew. If the knowledge he held came out, US troops could suffer dearly.

 _At least my life insurance will help dad and Taylor._

-SHADY-

Danny Hebert missed his son. It had been a long time since he had heard from him. About 3 months. Danny looked at his daughter as she lay in her hospital bed. A new wave of shame washed over him. If he had been a better father, he could have kept Scott from joining the Army and maybe Taylor would never have been hurt.

-SHADY-

This would not end well for him, Scott knew. He was probably going to be executed.

When the torture began, it was immediately an experience that Scott would never forget. He begged for it to stop. He started to pray. He cursed God. He swore vengeance upon his torturers. The Arabic man simply laughed and went on with the torture. The Arab used a corkscrew on Scotts hands and legs.

Scott could feel his hatred overpower him. When Scott's eyes were closed, he started to see something. A terrible symbol. A stylized horseshoe with other alphabet like symbols along its edges and in the center.

His torturers name was Abu Hassan. He felt it more than understood it.

He felt fear and begged for the torture to stop. He heard a name whispered to him. It was a grating name, guttural. Like a man said it with his dying breath. A word promising bloody violence. He shouted it, gurgling through the water in his throat and mouth.

"Yogorzabothl!"

Reality seemed to tear.

-SHADY-

The creature that appeared before Abu Hassan was something out of a nightmare. It was the vague shape of a dog with what looked like a squid head and tentacles around its head and neck. The jet black creature howled a sound that made Abu fall to his knees and cry out in pain. The noise was crushing into his skull and scrambling his thoughts. Me felt a madness well up inside him. He wanted to pluck his eyes out with the bloody corkscrew. He wanted to hit his face with his hands until his teeth came out and nose went into his brain. His urges went unanswered as the creature reached for him with its tentacles and pulled his arms from his shoulders and his head from his neck.

The creature went through the village and killed several of Abu's men, while Scott shot the rest of them with a stolen AK type rifle. They began to beg for mercy. He knew it was wrong to kill in those circumstances. Illegal even, but he would not let them live. The voice of the symbol he saw when he closed his eyes seemed pleased with his actions so he didn't stop. He counted forty-three men. When the danger seemed to dissipate, Scott's creature disappeared in a crack of sound and light. Scott found Chief Proctor in a poor state in a room similar to his. He was also tortured but had survived and was not in any immediate danger. Scott found a satellite phone in another building, likely Abu's home. He tried several times to call someone from his unit. He eventually got ahold of someone and gave his location to await pickup.

1SG Fox looked at Hebert with hard eyes. "You know, with what you've done, you will probably be awarded the Silver Star."

"First Sergeant, I did what I had to do to get Chief Procter and myself out of there."

"Fuck yeah, you did. Look, we are going to send you to CID for a full investigation. You won't get in any trouble from what I can gather. What you may or may not have disclosed can be waived due to the duress of the situation."

"I should hope so," Duress was a light word for it.


	2. Chapter 2

The Counterintelligence Department's purpose after a capture and recovery of US persons was to ensure that no sensitive information was leaked to the enemy and if there was, exactly what was leaked. Scott was interviewed by several different investigators. They were kind to him, sympathetic to his pain and likely psychological damage. He told the truth, leaving none of it out, no detail of his encounter with Abu Hassan and his group of fighters. When one investigator asked him what had happened and how he escaped from Abu Hassan, Scott told the truth about his creature. He would not lie to an investigator. He had to tell someone.

The investigator seemed surprised for a short moment before making a note on his clipboard.

"Are you telling me that you are a parahuman? That you can summon a creature that can kill 43 people?" he seemed slightly troubled by the question he had asked. Like it didn't quite make sense to him.

"I believe I am, sir." Lying to a CI investigator could lead to jail time and loss of benefits after being kicked out of the military. And there was no way for him to really come out about his abilities through the military other than this way.

"I'm going to tell you some things. It has happened in the past that a parahuman triggers while in service to the DoD. Our official policy is that we do not allow existing parahumans to join any branch of service. But those that trigger while fulfilling duties to the US… In this case, you will be given a few choices. You can finish out your current contract, however long that is with your current specialty but you will not be eligible for reenlistment. Or, you can agree to another contract. Something that will change your specialty."

"You mean, they'll kick me out? After everything I've done for this Army?!" Scott was getting red in the face. What right did they have to deny him the job he had done so well with? He was doing good work! He saved lives!

"Only if you don't take the alternative. Think of it as a specialty transfer."

"What kind of specialty?" Scott wasn't keen on changing specialties. He enjoyed his job just fine. There were far worse jobs in the Army he could wind up with. All of them, he thought to himself. He had been very lucky to land this job by lottery. A very select group of individuals, even in his specialty were qualified as ARSs. All the other soldiers he went to specialty school with had ended up as the infantry' bitch or stuck in an underground office.

"I'm not qualified to explain that to you. Nor do I have the liberty to divulge this information to you. Not here anyway." He leafed through some papers, seeming to not notice how frustrated Scott was getting. "I will put you in contact with someone who can help you. Once you get back stateside, he will give you further guidance. But I must warn you. Do not tell anyone about your abilities. Not even your family. Do not use your abilities." His eyes turned a stern glare on Scott's, giving him pause. "I can tell you that if you take the alternative deal, you will not want for opportunities to use them."

They want to make me a weapon.

-SHADY-

Scott felt tears prickle at his eyes as he looked at the drawing on his notepad. It was so beautiful. It captured something spectacular and simple, the elegance of the symbol he'd been seeing in his dreams. This symbol, her name in an alien tongue he could barely understand. He wanted it on his body. A brief flash of having it tattooed on his body flashed before his mind so he would never be apart from it. But he knew mere stained skin would not suffice. He wanted to be close to it. To have it on his being so completely that he would not be able to tell where it ended and he began. He could see things on the page he hadn't drawn. Stars of a glowing galaxy, clouds of particles swirling around black holes and a deep darkness he could only describe as a peaceful nothing. A personality he felt was familiar yet entirely alien. He could feel great power beyond him. Beyond this earth and the stars he knew. Like an ant might feel before the heel of man. Great danger. He savored his shivering fear. It crawled through his spine and ended in an acrid taste in his mouth. He could feel a yearning pull at him, tugging at his thoughts and his thumping heart with a sharp pain. A yearning to be together, to know. He could not tell if was his or hers. "Yogorzabothl," he whispered affectionately. Like he might breath the name of a lover.

The black creature appeared next to him. A great mass of writhing flesh atop a quadrupedal form with bubbling eyes on what may have been feet and claws on the end of midnight tendrils. He didn't need to look to know where she was. He didn't need to look to know that her form should have been disgusting to his human sensibilities. But it wasn't. She was beautiful. The creature made no noise, it merely stood statue still next to its summoner. The creature could hear his mind whirl, the language still new and ugly to its ears. "Can I talk to you? Can you use your voice for me?" Scott's words seemed to fall deaf on the creature before him before it winked out of existence and before him was a young woman.

"I will, since you asked it." She was wearing a simple robe. Like that of a priestess. Black hair framed her oval shaped face. Her brown eyes were wide and still. Like she wasn't looking at anything. She was not conventionally beautiful. Almost a caricature of a woman. She had learned of this world through Scott. Their connection able to pass information. She had understood his world and he… could not understand hers.

"What are these things I am seeing?" He traced his fingers along the page lovingly like one might caress a child. Entranced by the things not there. "It's so… pretty," he finished lamely.

"It is the home of my native race. The edge of the Void. It is where you brought me from."

"Can you show me more? Please?" The images brought to his mind were like a drug. Both heightening his senses and closing his mind from his body's sensation. His head buzzed with awesome excitement. "W-Why can I summon you?" His breath was shaky and his words distracted.

"I could hear your cries through the void. You called for me with such power..."

"But how could I have known your name? How could I see your sign?"

"You held something in you. Something I do not recognize. It gave you a voice for me to hear, and you spoke to me through space and the void."

"But there are others as well, ones I can't truly see, or only a little bit."

"Oh yes, I am merely a small part of those beings outside your people's perception. You could not say their names or look upon their forms without going mad. Your people possess weak minds. They could not understand much of it without losing themselves.

But you… You have a strength your brothers do not. Visions of my home do not damage you."

"I'm don't know what they do to me." Scott gave a distant smile as the shapes in his mind conveyed the vast stary depths of the cosmos. His wonder was palpable. "Are you an angel?"

"In a sense. I have a spark of the Eldritch Truth. But the gods that spawned me are not what you think. The Blind Idiot God, the father of the multiverse, Azathoth, is not a benevolent creator. He his unaware of his creation. It is said that all of reality, The Dreamlands, the Void and the Cosmos are merely creations of his dreams and when he awakens, all will cease to exist. The other gods care not for the woes of the creatures in the universe. Some even delight in the suffering of lost worlds and extinction of races.

You humans are not a concern for the Gods. But if even their children turned to this Earth, there would be no evidence of its existence left."

"Should I worship them? Will that appease them? Will it help me?"

"No. No being that could hear you would care. If they did, they would take from you more than they would give. But worship is not the only way to protect your planet. I can tell that you fight for good on this world. For life and freedom. You want your world to be better don't you?"

"Yes. I want to be a hero. I want to protect those who can't protect themselves. I want to protect my family."

"I know. You were trying before I found you. But I can share my power with you in a sense. The place I found my Spark of the Eldritch, it is accessible from anywhere in the multiverse. If the conditions were right… you could perhaps connect to it. It is the source of my strength."

"How would I connect to this Spark?"

"You would need a blood sacrifice. And a complicated ritual with several components. The greater the sacrifice the greater the gift."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea…"

"It is an option. I know your people have an aversion to spilling blood in the name of sacrifice. But it is the simplest solution to your dilemma."

"But I can call upon you to help me right? If I'm in trouble?"

"Yes. As long as you can speak my name I will come to you."

"But, why? Why will you leave your home to visit this place and lend me your strength?"

"I can feel you. Through the Cosmos I can hear your thoughts. Humanity will face destruction. Whether it is sooner or later is yet to be determined. A race capable of such compassion and love is rare in this universe. Many consider these emotions primitive and weak. My native people did not feel that way. We embraced our brothers and sisters in companionship and trust. We loved. It was our downfall. My native race was killed by invaders because we were too weak to protect our own home. I want to feel that again. Compassion and trust for another. To defend a race that knows suffering and sacrifice."

"I… don't know what to say." Scott was drawn to her form. An ethereal beauty exuded from her. He was drawn to her in ways not entirely comparable to the way man wants woman but in a way that truly transcended his understanding. Like her beauty was unbound by her human form and lie in something that he could not sense with his human limitations.

"Then don't say anything. Do you still want to hear of my home?"

Scott nodded his head. "And maybe a bit more about these gods please?"

He listened as she spoke of the nature of the universe. She would not show him the terrible appearance of the Gods or their children, saying they were not fit for mortals to gaze upon. She showed him terrifying views of alien races and of beings that lurked in darkness of the Cosmos.

Abu Hassan and his torture seemed far away as Scott conversed with her through mind and mouth.

-SHADY-

The Army Times was allowed to do a limited write up of what happened to PFC, now SPC (a quick waiver for a promotion 3 months early) Hebert and Chief Warrant Officer Proctor. All they wrote about was that they were captured in the line of duty, losing one of their own, LT Watson. It went on to say that they bravely fought their way out of the enemy camp, sustaining injuries but ultimately triumphing. It was not an exaggeration to say that Scott saved Chief Proctor's life that day. For this he was awarded a Silver Star Medal for Valor. Scott held the paper before him as his father drove North back to Brockton Bay.

The victory over Abu Hassan's terrorist cell meant that US troops in Sudan were that much safer. Turns out that intelligence wasn't even tracking that Abu Hassan was operating in that part of Sudan. Scott sure wasn't. Nore did anybody even know that he was a cape. The camp was swept of any evidence and the information gathered there would help warfighters in the area for quite a while. New targets were identified and tasked, new places of interest, and even contacts operating within the United States.

The ceremony that awarded Scott the Silver Star was not long, or formal. It was held in the Battalion HQ building back in South Carolina. The only ones wearing their dress blues were Scott and his supervisors. His family was there too. The Army had given him a bonus to get them here to celebrate. The Brigade Commander and The Brigade Command Sergeant Major shook his hand, giving speeches about why heroism was a part of what every soldier should strive to be. In reality, there were only about 75 people there. Most were his coworkers and their families. He knew who everyone was. Almost. He was glad to leave there at any rate.

Scott should have been proud. But all he could think of was how Taylor cried when she saw him for the first time in six and a half months. How she was so scared of what she heard of what happened. Danny was proud. Scott could tell just by looking at him. He didn't have to say it. There was a flash of pride as Scott looked down at his chest, Combat Action Badge gleaming under the fluorescent lights right above his aviation wings and the medal dangling from the other side. This is why I joined. To make a difference. It was rue, one of Scott's greatest motivations for joining the military was to have pride in himself. To bring pride to his family and protect them. To be a part of something greater, a cause that would make the world better for his family. But now it seemed to fall flat. There was great danger here. What if Abu Hassan had found his family? Was any of it worth it?

While he was at the ceremony, He had been approached by a stranger in a brown suit. His name was Mr. Jackson. He had handed Scott a phone number with instructions to call him sometime over his leave in Brockton Bay. It was about his parahuman abilities and what it meant for his military career. He said that they would set up a meeting in Brockton Bay to discuss his career. From what the CI investigator had told him, it would end one of two ways: 1, Scott's termination of service or 2, Scott's reassignment to a position that would allow him to use his abilities. It could be good or bad, Scott couldn't tell.

Scott handed the paper back to Taylor, who accepted it. "So how much of this is true?" Taylor was smart enough to know that the true details of what happened could not be divulged nor could he tell her in any definitive terms. He wished, not for the first time, that he could tell her just everything. He had been sorely tempted before, but now more than ever.

"Some of it. They didn't technically lie, so much as omitted the truth a little bit. But really it's par for the course for these kinds of journalists."

"I figured as much. They wanted to show that they had heroes in their ranks but nothing is truly that simple. But what do you want to do once we get home? I made sure Dad didn't convert your room into a closet so, you're welcome."

"I mean, just want to spend some time with you guys really. I want to catch up on how you all've been. Get some ice cream or hot chocolate. I don't think I can describe how much it means for me to have you here with me. It… I can't be more grateful."

"Yeah well we missed you too." Danny could hear her smile through her voice.

Danny was very pleased with how Taylor seemed to be bouncing back from what had happened to her in January. How she found a bit of happiness through her brother. He still hadn't told Scott about the incedent...

-STAYSHADY-

It was a cold February day in Brocton Bay. Danny was relaying what had happened earlier that month to Scott.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Scott seemed to be in a trance. Whoever had hurt his baby sister would pay. His anger was a calm one. Icy.

"You had your own shit going on! Taylor could barely take it when she heard about what happened to you. I didn't know what to do."

Well there's a fucking first, Scott thought to himself. "What else can you tell me about what happened?" He needed information. Who was responsible? Why? What would hurt them?

"I don't know much. She won't talk to me." The pain showed through his eyes. He was deeply hurt that Taylor didn't trust him. That he was failing her as a father.

Scott went to Taylor's room and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Taylor was working on what Scott thought was most likely homework. The way she quickly covered what she was writing was a little suspicious but he pressed on.

"Taylor, I'm gonna ask you something and I want you to be honest with me." Scott could see her tense up. Her eyes darting around the room, not looking at him. "Why didn't you tell me what happened? Why didn't you tell me that you went to the hospital?"

"Because you were dealing with your own stuff at the time! I know those bandages on your hands aren't from papercuts!"

"I am dealing with stuff. And so are you! If I can't help you with what's going on, what use am I? I want to help you more than anything, but I can't do that if you don't tell me!"

"There's nothing you could have done! Nothing would have changed had I told you. You wouldn't be better and I wouldn't be better."

"That's not true, Taylor-"

"And you're one to talk! You haven't told us what happened to you! You don't tell us anything! You're never even around! You left me! Why should I have to share with you shit that you wouldn't tell me?"

"It's not like that!" Scott's found his anger rising and squashed it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when you needed it. But, please, I just want to help. I want to know what's going on with my sister. I want to help you, even if it just means I sit here and listen to you."

"I don't need your help…" Her protests were weaker, less angry and more sad.

"I don't care. Please just tell me. I can tell it's not something small."

"..."

Scott pulled the bandage off of his left hand, showing Taylor the ugly half-healed wound beneath. "This was done with a corkscrew. He also did it to my legs. He waterboarded me day after day. He would have executed me had I not escaped. He was going to film it for propaganda. I killed him and ran." Scott was going out on a limb here. Maybe if he told her something, she would tell him? It was a little manipulative, but Scott was getting frustrated fast.

"Why are you telling me that stuff?" she was shocked and confused. He wasn't supposed to talk about this stuff, right?

"Because I want to show you that you're not alone in your pain. That I trust you with my pain. Please trust me with yours?" Scott looked pleadingly into Taylor's eyes and seemed to lose a bit of anger for more sadness.

"Okay…" Her voice was shaky and soft. Eyes wet with unshed tears.

-STAYSHADY-

While talking about her problems was painful and unpleasant, Taylor had seemed quite a bit better after it was all said and done. Scott had taken everything he learned and tried to come up with an answer to her problem. Not that she knew what he was doing of course.

A solution was not presenting itself to Scott immediately. Scott told his father what he had heard from Taylor. It was grim stuff. Scott felt like he had failed her. And in a way he did. He truly did leave a few short months after their mother's death. He abandoned her. These thoughts did nothing to quell his anger at the girls responsible for Taylor's torment. He would at the very least find a way to make them stop.

Which leads to Scott sitting at his old desk with his personal computer. He was debating the risks of using some collection equipment that was technically illegal to use on US citizens. All he needed was an MSISDN (phone number) and he could see where the target went, who they talked to, what kind of data was stored on the device (even 'deleted' data) and what they were texting. It was a kind of Bluetooth device that could essentially rip an entire phone's data in 20 minutes from up to a mile away. You could even record phone calls if you left the device on and were in range. The device was very difficult to get on the civilian market (illegal), but thankfully Scott had the expertise to build one. He decided it didn't matter. He was not likely to be caught at any rate.

Sophia Hess, Emma Barnes, and Madison Clements. Their phone numbers were easy enough to acquire. The initial collection was as simple as hanging out at the coffee shop 4 blocks away from the school and placing the equipment in his backpack as it did its thing. And lo and behold they were using 'em! What Scott found was evidence of a systematic criminal bullying campaign right there planned out in plain text message form. Even a 'big surprise' for after winter break. And photographs of what they did to Taylor's locker! How dumb were these girls? Dumb shitbags. Scott wasn't sure what he could reasonably do with this evidence. He couldn't waltz into the police station with a hard drive of illegally acquired 'evidence' that wasn't even permissable in court. But it was evidence that could not be ignored if the right people found it. I just had to find someone who would listen. Who held power over the girls. It was clear that Hess was the ring leader. So he began tracking her movements through the city. He found that she visited the Brockton Bay PRT building too often to be a coincidence.

He found that she had a second phone. And ensnaring it through bluetooth was a bit more tricky. He had to manipulate the first phone to use its bluetooth to connect to the second to transfer that phone's selectors. What he got was an encrypted IMSI, IMEI, Ki, and MSISDN. Now why the fuck would a teenager have a phone so heavily encrypted? So Scott tried time and time again to crack the encryption but was ultimately unsuccessful. He may have been able to crack it if he had had some help, but ultimately it was not something he could afford to ask for help with. However, he did find that the style of encryption matched one he had encountered during training before. One that involved the Columbia Protectorate. So there! Some possible proof that she was a member of the Protectorate, or more probably the Wards.

From the pictures of the Wards online he ascertained that one 'Shadow Stalker' was an eerie match for the body type of Sophia Hess. But he couldn't be sure. He needed more evidence.

-SHADY-

"You love your sister dearly," Yogorzabothl was standing close by Scott watching as he looked through his tablet at where Hess was currently located. She was out on the streets of Brockton Bay in the middle of the night. It could mean a few things. She could be a thug for one of the local gangs or she could be on patrol with the Wards. If he could get there, he would know definitively how best to deal with her. Ie, if he should anonymously send the evidence he had to the PRT. They would at least take a closer look at one of their own.

"I do. I would do anything for her." As they approached Hess' location, Scott pulled a gas mask over his face to hide his features and Yogorzabothl flitted to her dog-like form and hid in the shadows, almost melding into them.

There! Hess was standing on the rooftop of a building in downtown Brockton Bay. right in broad … moonlight... dressed as Shadow Stalker! Scott felt a rush of excitement at his discovery. This will make the next bit easier. He immediately pulled up the pre-written email and attached documents on his tablet and sent it with the tap of a finger. He had carefully disguised his IP address and MAC address, with techniques that should not be distributed to the PRT unless someone was breaking the rules… well, more than he was. With any luck, Something would be done.

-SHADY-

A/N

So work has been pretty scarce around the holidays this year so I've been putting my disgusting brain child to paper because I don't have a better use of my time. Leave a review and tell me what you think. I hope you enjoy!- Max


	3. Chapter 3

The night Scott sent his email, Dragon of Brockton Bay PRT received an email that at first glance was somewhat unassuming, but at closer inspection revealed to be something quite illegal. It was a rip of someone's phone. Shadow Stalker's civilian cell phone to be exact. There was a note in the email, ' _Your Ward's been acting up ;).'_ Dragon was tempted to delete the email without examining it before having a cursory glance at what this person might have been referring to. It did not take long to find a string of text messages and photos that painted a very unflattering picture of Sophia Hess. If the contents of the email were to be believed, there were things the PRT definitely did not know about that they absolutely should. It would require deeper investigation for certain.

If the email were permissible in court, she would be back in juvie. Her first thought was that these documents had to be fake, but closer examination revealed that it was either a very detailed fake rip or it was genuine. Dragon tried to trace the email back to the original sender. With all the processing power and decryption methods at her fingertips, she could only narrow it down to a device that was in the United States at the time of sending. It wasn't that surprising considering how simple it was to mask an email's origin with simple configuring.

After a small bit of research through email accounts that belonged to Sophia Hess, she found that Sophia Hess had undoubtedly been behaving in a manner unfit for a member of the Wards. Some further investigation indeed...

-SHADY-

Phillip Jackson was driving down the street in an unfamiliar Brockton Bay. This was only the second time he'd ever been to this city in his 55 years of working for the DoD and it had seen better days . He was fairly excited about his prospective recruit. SPC Scott Hebert had been doing good work in the Intelligence Community, providing real time battlefield surveillance to troops on the ground in Sudan. He received glowing reports for his good conduct and skill. But more interesting than that was his capture and impossible victory over Abu Hassan, a cape that had been on his radar for six years. The aftermath of the fight was brutal. His body had been torn limb from limb and his henchmen varied from shot to shredded meat. Some black ops operators worked their entire careers and never made as many kills as Hebert did in one day. His potential was noteworthy to say the least. There was only a vague description of his abilities, something about projecting a monstrous dog creature, but nothing on official record he was willing to trust.

Hebert was a tall young man, having left boyhood some time ago. He was cleanly shaven with a fresh military haircut with what brown locks he had on top combed to the side. His face was hard with a strong jaw and wide mouth and sharp cheekbones that stuck high out to the sides. He looked slightly awkward in his obviously new suit, likely because he didn't own a suit before Philip had requested he wear one. He stuck out like a sore thumb to anyone who knew what to look for. The green watch, the haircut, the unnatural looking posture. He was a military man all right.

As Hebert stepped into Phillip's car, he noted that the young man looked slightly haggard, like he had a shadow hanging over him. The sight of him set a chill down Phillip's spine as he looked at the way he kept his eyes still as he regarded him. They were eyes that seemed to see more of him than he showed and at the same time nothing at all. Like the eyes of a sleeping being.

The small talk was easy, if a bit stilted at first. The only questions Phillip asked that he didn't already know the answer to was about his family and how they were doing. Phillip didn't really care about them.

They were going to a secure facility that was a good 30 miles south of Brockton Bay. It was an NSA site with an empty office he had reserved for this very meeting. Of course if it wasn't empty, there would be no problem in making it so quickly. Nobody in the Department of Defense said no to Phillip Jackson. Or at least not his boss.

His goal today was to ascertain the nature of Hebert's abilities and persuade him to serve his country in a capacity he was not yet familiar...

-SHADY-

Scott looked down at his red badge as he walked down the hallways of one of the secure facilities at Fort Hoover Joint Base. The red badge meant that he was required to have an escort at all times. It rankled him a bit, having not had to deal with this since he first arrived in South Carolina.

"Don't worry about it. We don't have the time to do any extra bullshit paperwork today anyway. Besides, it's not like we're gonna talk about anything _classified_ anyway." He snickered at his own joke. They likely were going to talk about something classified, hence the security of the current location. In Scott's experience, there was nothing funny with joking about security like that.

They arrived in a locked office, with a variation of 'DO NOT DISTURB' plastered on the front of the door. When they both took their seats Mr. Jackson began.

"I want you to know, before anything else, that now that you have triggered as a parahuman, you are no longer eligible to be a member of the armed forces as per the law."

Scott had no reply. He stewed in his seat, anger just below the surface.

"But before you get the wrong idea, you have to understand. You parahumans are like WMDs. If our military publicly employs parahumans to fight its wars, we will have international trouble. I'll tell you right now, NATO is dissolving."

"What?" This was an unexpected turn of events. Namely because NATO was an alliance forged in the fires of war and had stood the test of time into the modern age. If it _actually_ dissolved, there would be chaos.

"It's true. The tension surrounding the Endbringers and the criminal elements all across the world, our old allies have begun to close themselves off from us. They are weary of our influence. Germany in taking measures to remove our permanent stations in its borders. The world is changing around us. The rules we used to play by are not working anymore. It seems no matter how much we fight, threats come from all corners to replace it."

Scott was not sure how to respond. It was honestly shocking to hear these things.

"We have started to evolve. The threats are all around us. Germany. The Taliban. Iran. Russia. China. They all smell blood in the water. They have been breaking the rules since the beginning. They employ capes to do their dirty work. International law states we cannot employ capes to wage war, so we publicly deny capes from our armed forces. But we cannot allow our enemies such an advantage.

I have a team of capes. A team of US servicemen and women just like you who triggered while serving their country. We work under the direct authority of our Secretary of Defense."

"But first let me see your power. I know you have something special." Mr. Jackson was looking pleased with himself.

"Alright." Scott was almost nervous. " _Yogorzabothl!"_

-SHADY-

A creature snapped into sight before Philip. It was hideous. He yelped as his eyes widened in fright. The creature was black with four legs and a mass of shambling tentacles for a head. It was about his height and the tentacles writhed around its body, reaching down to its eye covered feet. The sight visibly unnerved him, his eyes bugging out of his head and skin sheet white. Hebert was standing next to it with a hand on its side. What was almost as unsettling as the creature itself was the way Hebert was looking at the thing with _affection._

"W-What is it?" His question came out shaky and breathy.

"I'm not sure what she is, but she appears when I call her name."

"You have a terrifying projection? Is that your power?"

"No, she's real. She's the one who took out Abu Hassan. She has great strength and endurance. She survived several rounds of 7.62 NATO to the body that day." Scott could tell that he was not comfortable with her in that form and dismissed her. He didn't think showing off her human form would be a good idea.  
"What about that fear aura? What was that?"

"It's something she can't turn off. She can ramp it up several notches and sometimes make the target crap themselves or worse."

"That is some ability." He wiped some sweat from his brow as he tried to regain control of his faculties. "We'll need to do some more tests in the future if you're amenable."

"Well I'm still not entirely sure what this agreement would entail…"

"Oh, right! I'll get on with it."

He explained to Scott that he would essentially be a part of a military Superhero team that carried out missions that mostly revolved around neutralizing foreign parahuman threats and assisting JSOC with high profile missions as well as responding to Endbringer attacks and other such threats. They would be known as Task Force Green Wings. Scott would be paid as if was still in the Army but with hefty 'signing' bonuses and extra allowances. It wouldn't be extremely lucrative, but definitely more than what he was currently making, even with the flight pay. He would have to go to various schools before he went on any missions to ensure he could withstand the demands of the field. Scott was getting excited just thinking about the kinds of schools he could be sent to. There was Sniper school, there was Ranger School ( _well… maybe after I've had some time to prepare_ ), and even combat diving school and specialized combatives training! It was unquestionably a sweet deal. He'd just have to read the fine print to be sure he wouldn't be screwed over. He'd be stationed in Fort Madison, New Hampshire just west of Manchester. A lucky break if he ever got one for sure, to be so close to his family. After so long in the heat of South Carolina and later Sudan, He could not wait to get back to more comfortable weather.

"You understand the importance of the secrecy here don't you?"

"I think so. I can't tell anybody about what kind of team I'm in. I can't talk about mission specifics or any classified material. I know this song and dance."

"You might, but in this case, you need to know less than 500 people even know that we have a Task Force Green Wings. You must keep every bit of your involvement a secret. You will be in the same platoon as the other members as what's technically a support platoon for JSOC. Your personnel files themselves will be classified. You will be on a tight leash for some of the time, but you will soon find that this team gets a good bit of action."

"Yes, sir." It was a bit more than Scott expected. "I think this sounds fairly reasonable. I'd be willing to go ahead and sign if you're ready."

"Of course, the minimum mandatory contract is 3 years with a signing bonus of…"

-SHADY-

Scott stretched in his folding lawn chair that sat on the shore of the Atlantic. It was crisp, but it was a welcome sensation. He had just called his unit back in South Carolina to tell them of his recent new assignment, much to their dismay. The sun was setting behind him as he watched the waves roll back and forth on the sand. Next to him, in a lawn chair of her own sat Yogorzabothl. She was wearing a grey sweater and a pair of jeans. Her black hair contrasted with her pale skin that seemed to glow in the red light of the sunset. She blinked her brown eyes and shifted them up and down the horizon as if watching for the coming of a ship. They were totally alone on the beach.

Scott stared at the creature. His partner in her human shape. "Do you think I made the right choice?" Scott looked at her searchingly, worried and unsure.

"I think you made a good first step."

"But is this the right thing to do? Am I making a mistake?"

"I will not tell you I agree with your decision. But I will say that the resources you will gain from these people may be invaluable. They can teach you in ways that I can't. They will give you tools you need." It was true. They would outfit Scott with anything he needed, right down to tinkertech bodyarmor and gadgets. But it wasn't something he couldn't get from the PRT. What he couldn't get from the PRT was something more dangerous. "You will be a weapon for the machinations of another. A tool."

"It's not much different from where I came from. I was at my superiors beck and call. I'm used to having to follow orders. It wouldn't be much different than if I had joined the PRT. This arrangement is better in some ways."

"How so?"

"I'm not in the public spotlight. I'm not restricted by their ridiculous civilian rules. Nobody has to know who I am for me to be a hero."

"But will you be a hero?" She leaned closer, more agitated. "How many lives will you save by taking the lives of your nation's enemies? To them, you are a villian. How do you know that your nation knows what's good for this world? What right do they have?"

"I have seen the kinds of people we fight! They are scum! They rape and kill and kidnap and torture their own people! You know the threat they pose. This country has felt it. Our fight is not hopeless."

"Is that the true enemy? What about the ones right here, the villains in Brockton Bay? Are they not more of a threat to your country?"

"They are far from the most dangerous." Scott was red in the face. Angry that she was saying such things, asking such questions. His brothers and sisters in arms had suffered for that cause. LT Watson's sacrifice was not in vain. In a few ways, she was right. The villains were wreaking havoc on Brockton Bay. He didn't really know who was actually the greatest threat. His family was right in the middle of a dangerous and volatile gang war. Where was he supposed to be?

"I just want you to think. I know you don't plan on staying with this team forever, but I want you to understand that no group like that can offer you a true fight for good. There will always be compromise, more so with these people. They will wring you dry. They will use you."

"I know that. I swore allegiance to this nation. It's my home. I know it seems dumb to you, but I can't just toss aside these obligations, my duty. I will make a difference for the better. I understand what you're trying to say, but I don't believe the world would be better off if I didn't do this."

"It's not that it's detrimental to your goal but it's not nearly as productive as being a real hero. You will have a different kind of power then. I believe that soon this planet will have great need of men like you. Where they can see you and follow."

The two were silent for a while. Scott not willing to say another word on the subject and his partner not entirely at peace with it.

"I'm sorry I got upset with you." He looked at his hands instead of at her.

"It's alright. I shouldn't have questioned you like that. I just want to help you."

"It's fine. It was stuff I probably needed to hear, anyway." Scott sat back in the chair, eyes slowly drifting closed in the lull for a minute before opening again. There was something else on his mind.

"What else can you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when we were in Sudan… you just destroyed those people. Pulled them apart with your limbs and shrugged off their bullets. When I started talking to Mr. Jackson about it, I left some stuff out, but I realized I don't even know exactly what your abilities are."

"Some features of my biology are that in my native form I am a creature of great strength and fortitude. I see and hear quite well by human standards. We could communicate telepathically with others of our species. Other species, it varies. It seems I can affect the minds of humans with effort, as you might have seen with Abu Hassan ."

Scott flinched at the mention of his torturer. He avoided thinking about his time in captivity. She pretended not to notice.

"In this form, I'm a mortal human, my strength limited to the body I inhabit. But I mimic the biology of a human, even down to my DNA." Scott's eyes fell to the curves her body and felt an unbidden bout of lust well in him before he could quell it, shaming him. He had no right to think of her in such a way. He held no worth to her in that manner.

"But with my knowledge of the Eldritch Truth, what spark I can grasp, coupled with my native biology, I can change myself into different forms. Also with what connection I share, I do not truly die. I will reconstitute my body at the place of my birth when this body is destroyed or when I am dismissed. And when you call to me, I can come to you."

"When you leave me you essentially destroy yourself?" Scott was dismayed at the revelation.

"Yes. But do not think of it as such. My body is only my expression of my will upon this universe. The only way I can affect it. If I wished, I could not have a body, although I'd be deaf, dumb and blind."

"You are immortal?"

"No. I can be killed. But probably not by means of this earth. A being of sufficient power could destroy me completely or prevent me from reconstituting myself."

"How did you get this ability? Why are you so powerful?"

"It is because I completed a sacrifice to gain a Spark of the Eldritch Truth. It was a ritual steeped in the Occult and death."

"Occult?"

"Magic. Eldritch power. The powers of the Gods and their spawn made accessible to the mortal races of existence. You humans do not seem to have much of a knack for it. The only possible users are these capes. But even then, they do not draw on true Occult power, but more like power gifted to them by a powerful being."

"Someone like Scion?"

"It is a likely answer. But, I do not know where he came from or how he became so powerful. He does not share the usual traits of the Gods and their spawn. It's possible he is an exceptionally powerful human."

"What would happen if I, uh, if I tried to get a Spark? Could I do it the same way you did?"

"Why would you want to do such a thing?" The creature was looking at Scott with hard eyes, mouth tight and lines on her face that were not usually present.

"I-I…" Scott withered a bit under her gaze but continued, "I want to see more of what you try to show me. I want to know what it means."

"You don't truly mean that. If you knew, your mortal mind-"

"But I can feel it! It's calling to me. It shows me just a _taste..._ "

"...Like you want to drink the ocean but can only grasp it with a spoon?"

"...Yes. That's a way to put it," The blood in Scott's veins was running hot. His ears and face warm with embarrassment and emotion.

"Does it tug at you? Do you feel it when you sleep?"

"I dream about it. It haunts me every day. I want to see what you see… I want to find the truth. I need it. It's like I'm dying of thirst but I can only get a drop at a time..."

She was silent for a moment. Her eyes turned to Scott's. "There is no guarantee about the effects of the ritual. It could kill you. It could give you power beyond measure or it could drive you mad. It could even give you more questions than answers and drown you. Every single being reacts to the truth differently. I was lucky to have survived with my sanity for so long, enlightened as I am."

"If I lived my whole life wondering, I would be very miserable. It's an agony I did not know existed. It's like there's a whole lush jungle for me to explore but I can only smell."

"You want this." She had a stern frown on her lips. Scott felt her at his mind. Searching for something. He opened his mind to hers as best he knew, feeling a tightness in his chest, a heat that rushed through his being. The way a child would lean into his mother's touch, he embraced the warmth of her in his mind and he saw the beautiful vision of her home. It was swirling and chaotic in a way he had not seen before, warped in sadness and frustration. It was disconcerting.

"Yes. I do."

"It is a sickness. Your thirst for knowledge. You may drown in it. In truth, you have tasted madness. It infects you even now."

"..."

She was quiet for a while. She sifted through Scotts mind, finding that foreign piece of him. The part of his brain he wasn't born with. The one that let him call out to her. It was the root of his madness, his connection to her. An inseparable parasite was leeching on him as he was leeching on it, the barrier between the two degrading as she watched it. She did not know what would happen when they became one.

"I will teach you the steps. But it will take time."

"Thank you!" Scott was almost weeping as he stood and embraced her in his arms, quiet tears of joy welling in his eyes.

A/N To anyone who was wondering, I do currently serve. Anyways, I just wanted to thank everyone who left a review last chapter. You're all so cool!


	4. Chapter 4

Scott and Taylor did their best to enjoy what time they had together. They'd go to the mall, to the movies and the park. Scott was pleased to see that Taylor had taken up running and even joined her, showing her some of his techniques for recovery and prep. He showed her how to get better with sprinting intervals, and even bought her an exercise outfit. Much of her time was taken up by school and his father's by work. For much of the days Scott would spend an hour a day on housework. Cleaning, washing clothes, things to occupy the time. It was serenely domestic. He researched the cape culture. He researched the local capes and the wards. He looked through his files he had of the girls who were tormenting Taylor.

He had to make it stop. He couldn't stand the thought of someone treating her like that. His anger always was on the verge of overcoming him when he thought about it. Even now, as he sat in his room, he grit his teeth and seethed at his own impotence. He doubted that his email to the PRT was being taken seriously. He'd have to take action if he wanted anything to change. He asked Yogorzabothl what he should do, if she would help him. She suggested that they try to use the microphone on her cell phone or the camera to record instances of her abuse. Better yet making her phone call the Protectorate as she and her buddies carried out her abuse. These were pretty good ideas, but if the first bit of electronic evidence was dismissed, then it was likely that others would be as well.

At this point Scott did not feel above committing his own abuse. Maybe threatening them over text, spamming them with computer viruses, or even physical threats. He recognized that he should have been repulsed at the idea of doing those things to teenage girls but he couldn't bring himself to be remorseful. These girls were no better than monsters, taking such pleasure in the suffering of others. He'd like to say that he wasn't tempted to kill her. He had certainly killed for less. He had killed other men on the assumption that they were working for Abu Hassan. Most had never even touched him. Some weren't even holding weapons and had surrendered. He still killed them. He had shamefully taken a vindictive pleasure in paying his captors back all the pain they had dealt him and his fellow soldiers. He believed himself physically capable of killing Sophia Hess, A.K.A. Shadow Stalker. But to do it without being caught would be truly challenging. And to be caught would be the end of him and his family. The risks did not outweigh the benefits unless he could be absolutely sure he would not be caught. He was not prepared, would not be for some time. While he knew where her house was within 20 meters, he had no clue what it looked like, where the bedrooms were, if there was a security detail from the Protectorate and PRT, or when her parents went to bed.

Things he would want a team to know before sending them after a target. If he were to kill her, he'd need time to plan. Time he didn't have before he had to leave Brockton Bay.

He decided to send a virus to Hess' cell phone and computer so that when she sent a message to her buddies or sent an email from her phone or computer to Taylor, it would also be sent to the Protectorate. He could even do this remotely using his Bluetooth device. At least use it to get the virus on the cell phone and then from there get it on her computer.

The virus was easily acquired. an old acquaintance that owed him a favor could code it quickly enough for him and he could set the specifications for it. Maybe this time the Protectorate would bite.

-STAYSHADY-

One morning, Scott was sitting at the kitchen table idly looking at various tech parts at an online store chatting with Yogorzabothl in human form. He had taken the bandages off his hands to give his wounds some air. The palm of his hands were almost completely healed, only a dark scab maring his skin. Sitting directly across from him, Yogorzabothl was wearing a change of real clothes Scott had bought for her to wear. She was sporting a pair of jeans and a flowery shirt. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He would intermittently swing his gaze up to find her looking back at him with wide brown eyes. I warmed his face to see her staring at him. Her presence filled his senses. He could feel her in his mind. Feel her gaze and feel her churning ocean of unintelligible thoughts and unmistakable emotion. The foreignness mixed with the unnatural familiarity of it all stole his breath.

"I've been thinking," His gaze was locked on the screen of his computer but his attention was squarely on his companion. "I'm ready to start with the steps of the ritual."

Probably knowing what he was about to say before he said it she answered, "I will tell you how to start but first I want to tell a little bit more about the Spark. It's not simple to describe it with your language or even in a way that will make sense in your mind. It will not be clear to you until you successfully complete the ritual. The best I can describe it is an expanded state of mind. You see things that were not apparent before. Ultimately it's a heightened state of consciousness. But it truly affects every species differently as far as I know. It may even affect every individual differently. You will still be human in all the ways that truly matter, but you will be different. You will be an aberration on the universe." She paused a moment and looked out the kitchen window. "The ritual requires an amount of self mutilation and blood sacrifice. The self mutilation will likely involve exposing your brain among other things. The exact required amount of blood and self mutilation will vary. Learning the exact procedure will be comparatively easier. It will require some guided ...meditation. I will have to show you what to do. Your gift will be a great boon in this."

"What is my power? I'm not sure what it does specifically. All I can see is that it let me bring you to my world."

She snorted and folded her arms. "That's not your power, it's mine. I can reconstitute myself anywhere in the universe as long as I can see it and I choose to come to your location when I hear your call for me. From what I can see, you are engaging in some sort of cosmic communion. Many species can do this to some degree. You though… I believe your affinity for it is much greater than in any mortal I've ever seen. More akin to the Spawn of the Gods."

"What does that mean? Cosmic communion?"

"You have molded your mind to mine in a way that would be impossible for another of your species. Of any species. You could… call out to me, make me feel what you feel. I could feel your mind from a thousand light-years away. I think, someday, you may be able to truly commune with the Spawn of the Gods, maybe the Gods themselves. This ritual would be impossible without your ability. And I think your ability would benefit from a Spark of the Eldritch Truth. Right now your voice can only be heard by the closest and most perceptive of beings. It's too weak to have any effect or hold any interest to anything but a being such as me."

Scott was quiet for some time. He mulled over her words. What does it mean to be an aberration on the universe? How long before he could reasonably complete the ritual?

His attention was snapped back to reality when his companion spoke up. "Your sister has seen us," she sounded vaguely amused.

"What!" He whipped his head around and saw Taylor looking through the front window. "What do we tell her?" He was about to panic.

"Well, I'm a completely normal girl. I don't know what you're so worried about." He didn't have to look to know that she was smiling at him. On the verge of laughing at his paranoia.

This was the scene Taylor Hebert saw as she stepped into her home. She paused in the doorway as she looked at the pretty woman with dark hair and brown eyes, a cute smile across her lips gazing at her perturbed brother. She had not realized that he'd still be at home.

"What are you doing home so early?"

"Um…" Taylor did not know what excuse to give that he wouldn't see right through. She may as well tell the truth. Maybe she could put it off... "I-uh… Hi, I'm Taylor. I don't think we've met before." She extended her hand to the young woman to Scott's visible irritation.

"I'm Lilian! I'm a friend of Scott's. It's so great to finally meet you! He's told me so much about you." She shook Taylor's hand and smiled genuinely at her. She was immediately suspicious, sharpening her gaze to this Lilian's eyes. ' _Friend… sure,'_ she thought to herself.

"Um... Scott? Can we speak in private?" Taylor looked sidelong at Lilian for a second.

"Oh, I can see when I'm not needed," Lilian was almost too cheerful for being so summarily dismissed and she walked upstairs and into Scott's room.

"Who is she?"

"She's a friend of mine." Taylor could tell Scott was ready to talk about her skipping school and not his lady friend. "Why are you home so early?"

In response, Taylor raised her backpack which, until now, Scott had not realized how thoroughly wet it was. "They got me again." Unshed tears welled in her eyes. She was not going to cry dammit! She could deal with this. If she didn't think about it- didn't talk about it, it would be okay.

Scott moved to her and embraced her and she dropped her bag with a wet thud. He didn't say anything which Taylor was thankful for because she didn't trust herself to say anything without choking up. He just held her tightly for a moment.

When he released her he picked up her backpack. "Come on let's see what we can salvage."

As it turned out, not much. The liquid they had used was viscous and stained the bag an ugly brown along with the majority of her stuff. Luckily, she hadn't brought any textbooks with her that day. Scott resolved to take her to the store to replace her things.

Once Taylor had cleaned herself up and gotten changed, they jumped into Scott's car and headed off to the mall. "I want you to tell Dad. And then I want the two of you go to the school and tell them what's been going on. What they've been doing to you is criminal, Taylor!"

"I know that! I've tried to tell them before but nobody believes me. The teachers only listen to Emma and her friends." She sagged a little in the seat, hunching her shoulders.

"They have to listen to you if Dad's there." He knew he was probably grasping at straws with that. "You could go to the police."

"That doesn't sound like it would end well for me."

"Well then what would fix the problem? I'm seeing only a few options."

"You don't have to try to solve all my problems like I can't solve them myself."

"I just want to help you Taylor. I wouldn't say anything unless I thought it might help."

"I'll think about it."

"I could go with you when you go to the police station. Well if you go tomorrow or the day after." Scott had to go back to South Carolina soon. His long leave was almost over and Taylor would feel his absence keenly.

"Maybe."

-STAYSHADY-

In the end, Taylor decided she would go to the police station with Scott and her father the very next day. Scott had taken the time to give various 'anonymous tips' that included the photographs he found on Sophia Hess' cell phone. Taylor had brought with her her notebook that chronicled everything the three girls had done to her for more than a year. It would not hold up in court but it would definitely get the police sniffing around the three bullies. He doubted it would yield the desired results but it was worth a try.

A police officer took the three of them to a back room where he asked Taylor a round of questions with simple enough answers. He did not seem to doubt what she was telling him.

"For the time being I don't think it is safe for you to be in that school. What you've told me speaks of criminal endangerment from the staff of Winslow school at the least. Those girls, if these allegations stick they way I want them to, they'll be expelled and see some time in juvie. I'm headed to Winslow after I speak with my supervisor. I'll call you after with more information. For now, Taylor, don't go back to Winslow."

As they were escorted out of the backroom and into the lobby, Scott was shocked that everything had gone so smoothly. Why they had taken the time to hear an accusation that was relatively minor compared to what the BBPD were usually saddled with. It was their _job_ , but Scott was impressed that they were so quick to listen to Taylor's plight.

"Hebert! Hold on a second." Scott whipped around to see Mr. Philip Jackson walking towards him.

"What are you doing here Mr. Jackson?" Scott was beginning to connect the pieces. He must have somehow caught wind of someone meddling with one of the Brockton Bay Wards and correctly guessed who it was and why.

Philip Jackson dragged Scott off to an empty office with barely a word.

"What's going on?"

"I'll tell you what's going on, you're being a total dumbass! Stalking teenage girls!? What the fuck were you thinking! If the PRT had any inkling that it was you, you'd never work again! You'd be fucking ruined! Why didn't you just ask somebody for help?"

"I wasn't aware you'd be willing to help me with something so trivial…"

"If you're about to resort to doing something illegal to solve a problem, you better fucking call someone. I don't care if it's 4 in the morning and you're about to drive home drunk, you call fucking _somebody!_ That's what your NCOs are for! You tell them your little fucking issue and then they either help you or find you someone who can. All you had to do was ask for help! A guy like you, with a silver star, a fucking 'hero'? Some people would trip over themselves to help you. Fuck!"

"Um-"

"You could have had your sister put into Arcadia with no questions asked. What were you thinking emailing the goddamn PRT evidence of your stalking of a teenage girl!"

"I thought that if I gave her supervisors evidence of her misconduct, they would punish her and pull her from Winslow, maybe it would violate her parole and she'd go back to juvie." Scott was visibly mollified. "I didn't know my needs were so important," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

Mr. Jackson was incensed, "They sure as hell shouldn't be! You just put yourself on the radar. If it weren't for me, you'd have been arrested and questioned at the least. You might have gotten away with it. You did okay encrypting your shit, but damn! If they had the sense to ask for a decryption key or gave it to someone who had it you'd be fucked." He paused and took a breath. The slight redness in his face fading. "You're lucky things turned out so well for you. I need you more than the PRT needs Hess. I even got the Police Chief to take your sister's case for you. You have to realize that while most people don't know who the fuck you are, the people who matter- the people with all the power- sure as shit do."

"Um- for what it's worth, I'm sorry I caused so much trouble for you."

He sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. "At least you're not in any trouble with the PRT or the law and you didn't reveal your power to anyone. Small mercies."

"What's going to happen to Hess?"

"I don't even care. She's probably going back to juvie. Damn shame. She was worth something as a Ward you know?"

Scott was not going to dignify that with a response. As selfish as it was, he was glad she was getting her just desserts. "How did you know we'd be coming the station today?"

"You think I didn't have your shit monitored after the second time you tried to 'help' send Hess to Juvie?"

"Isn't that illegal? The government can't monitor a Citizen like that."

"You think I give a fuck? And you're one to talk."

Scott resolved to scrub his equipment and probably replace them. He'd need new emails, a new phone, new everything. It might be useless but it would make him feel better.

"I've wasted enough time here. I need you to understand that everything you do is under scrutiny, now. You can't break the law like this anymore."

"I understand, sir." Mr. Jackson nodded and made to leave the room. "And thank you. For helping Taylor."

"Just don't let this shit happen again." With that he was gone. By the time Scott had gotten out of the room, he was no longer in the building.

Scott was just thankful that Taylor's problem had been dealt with. If it hadn't stopped when it did, he probably would have done something that couldn't be swept under the rug. He had been so prepared to find a more permanent solution to the issue. It would have been so easy. Why wasn't he more worried.

-STAYSHADY-

"Do you like the name Lilian?" Scott and 'Lilian' were sitting on the beach again in their usual lawn chairs and warm clothes. It was their last night in Brockton Bay before Scott had to go back to South Carolina. The chill sank into his bones and he suppressed a shiver.

"You like it. And it rolls off the human tongue better than Yogorzabothl. I think it would be easier to introduce myself as Lilian to others."

"Why would you be introduced to others? You don't have any identification! No citizenship, no birth certificate…"

"No, but if we want to spend more time with each other I will at least be seen occasionally by people who know you."

"You won't last a moment of any meaningful investigation. You have no parents, no references, no way they won't think you're a spy."

"I know these things." She was quieter. Scott realized he said something wrong somewhere. What had she said about spending more time together?

"I'm sorry. I do like the name. I like it a lot actually."

"That's why I chose it."

"Because it would please me?"

"Yes. I knew it would please you in some small way." She was looking into the sea, her black hair blowing in the light breeze. Her nose and cheeks were red.

"You don't have to choose it just because I like it."

"I know. But it makes me happy that you like it." She shivered in her jacket. "You are the first compassionate being I've spoken to since the last of my race died out. I thought I'd never find another. That I can make you happy with something so small makes me happy too."

He stared at her and felt a heavy pang in his chest. "Come on let's get to the car. You're cold."

-STAYSHADY-

Saying goodbye to Taylor and their father was harder than it should have been. Once he was done in South Carolina, he'd be in Fort Madison. It was only an hour away by car and two by bus.

"You just call me whenever you feel like it." Scott knew how his father felt about cell phones but it didn't stop him. As soon as his dad got over his fear, he'd buy Taylor a cell phone.

"I know. And I expect a tour of your new station once you get settled."

"Of course. I'll even send you pictures."

"And you'll come home to visit as often as you can." Her voice was thick with emotion.

"Well, duh. No way I wouldn't come home whenever I can, Tayor. It'll be fine. Maybe I'll even surprise you at Arcadia one day."

She laughed a little at that. "Yeah, that would be fun." She gave one last hug and a watery smile.

"I love you."

"Love you too." Taylor released her brother and he started off to his car. "See you soon!" She called out.

He gave one last wave and a shout of "Bye!" as he pulled out of the driveway.

Taylor stood on the doorstep thinking about her brother. It had been a great visit. She wasn't sure she'd ever get to spend that much time with him again after the first year of him being gone. She was glad he was okay. She was so lucky to be going to Arcadia. With the new school hopefully she would find some new friends. Maybe she'd even get to meet the Wards. She thought about the costume she was making in the basement and her powers. She was going to be a hero no matter what. Maybe she'd even become a Ward. She would make her family proud. As she stepped into the basement (her lair for the time being) she felt a rush of hope and smiled toothily. She was so happy, she could dance!

-STAYSHADY-

Finding information about his new situation was as easy as calling his new supervisor on his cell phone. One 'Sergeant Reed'. He was very helpful telling him where to go and when, an all around friendly guy. He sounded older than the average E-5 type. Maybe 35. He was quite welcoming, saying, ' _We haven't had anybody new come in for almost a year and a half. It'll be nice to have some fresh blood.'_

He was not sure exactly where Sergeant Reed fit in with the whole Task Force Green Wings thing. Was he a cape? Was he in the loop at all? Scott was hesitant to voice these questions. He decided that his queries would be answered soon. His curiosity could wait. The most annoying part of transferring to Fort Madison was that he had had to go all the way back to South Carolina for a week for all the transfer paperwork, not to mention his cumbersome things. He did have a multitude of junk the Army had given him. Most was useless in his previous occupation. He winced as he thought that much of it would have been quite useful in his time of need. A helmet, a ballistic vest… even a rucksack.

He tried to not think about his ordeal. It weighed heavily in his mind. Like it was a monster just around the corner ready to reduce him to a puddle of anxiety and terror. The experience had truly messed him up. He'd catch himself shaking for no reason. His dreams filled with too much water…

Scott clenched his fists. The Staff Sergeant on staff duty hardly noticed. She was focussed on the computer in front of her after she had absentmindedly called for someone to come get him. He hated how vulnerable he was. How affected he was. How he had broken under the stress. He would have given his torturer anything to make him stop. If given a chance he might have even killed himself. He was not rational. If not for the unnatural calmness that effused him when he triggered he would have probably died anyway. If not for Yogorzabothl he would probably not be functioning nearly as well as he was. He still suspected he needed therapy anyway.

"Ah, Hebert!" Scott turned quickly from the staff duty desk in front of him. He had been waiting for someone from his new unit to show him where to go.

"Sergeant Jonathan Reed, how are you?" Sergeant Reed had thick glasses that seemed to magnify his eyes and a wide smile. He had thinning hair and strong handshake. A quick glance at his left breast showed a wreathed knife, same as him, and an Air Assault badge.

"Hebert, Scott. I'm good Sergeant." He snapped to parade rest as was appropriate for an NCO. Scott suspected it was unnecessary, but it was better to show proper respect anyway.

"Dude, you can relax. That shit's not necessary with me," He didn't seem impressed or even pleased. Oh well, better safe than sorry. "Well, I'll be your first line for the foreseeable future. Boy, you're in for a treat. Come on we've got some paperwork we can get done here."

"Roger."

Going to some of the S-shops and signing a million papers (non-disclosure agreements, housing agreements, Life insurance, and several other pointless wastes of paper) gave Scott a chance to talk to Sergeant Reed.

"How many others are in the platoon?" Scott asked.

Sergeant Reed was quick to provide an answer, "We've currently got 4 here at Madison. Three are deployed and a couple are TDY for a few weeks. You'll meet them soon."

It was truly not difficult getting him to start talking. He just plowed on, hardly needing any prompting from Scott at all. "Shit, we've been expecting you for a few weeks. We even got you pulled from the rest of the incoming personnel train at reception. That place fucking sucks. They treat you like retards there. You know, when I first showed up, married, freshly minted NCO, they made me live in a barracks room for 2 fucking weeks! Like, come on at least let me stay at a hotel with my wife! But yeah, you'll have a blast here. You'll love Third Platoon. We do have an office, but the deployment schedule is not bad and you get some pretty good training opportunities. Well everyone gets to use what's here on Madison but it does have some pretty good ranges and stuff."

The longer he talked, the more Scott began to suspect that his long-winded responses were more of a show for the others in the office. He was probably just imagining it. They were in the parent Brigade building, probably far from where his Company would have its office.

Once they finished, Scott headed for his car but Sergeant Reed stopped him. "Ride with me for now. We'll come back for your car in a bit. I want to show you around for a bit."

"Oh. Okay," Scott was a little put off by his offer. It was a sound suggestion.

Once they were off, in Sergeant Reed's dirty Jeep, he spoke up in a somber voice, "I want you to know that what we've got planned for you in the coming weeks won't be very pleasant. It's definitely to your benefit though. Everything we do at garrison is to make our operators better. We really just want to ascertain your abilities. Strengths, weaknesses, where you'd fit best on the team."

"Um… should we be talking about this here?" Scott was mildly alarmed. He always operated under the impression that you could only discuss sensitive information in a secure facility.

"Fuck no," He seemed jovial with a hint of spitefulness playing across his expression. "But I don't care. As long as nobody else hears we're good. Even if they bugged my damn car, they wouldn't do anything to us. The Colonel has our back. He'd probably get anybody to look the other way. But anyways. What's your power? The description I was given was pretty vague."

"I can uh, summon an alien creature from thin air." He felt unsure of himself as he said it. It was truly the bare minimum of what was really happening when he used his power. The truth was too personal- too much.

"Really? What can it do?"

"It's really strong and durable. And fast. It can kill a normal human pretty easily. And survive several rounds of 7.62."

"That's fucking awesome man! I mean, not everybody's power is combat oriented but when they are, they don't pull any punches! But you'll probably still use conventional weapons. I sure as hell do. You know, pose as normies until the time is right. Plus even most capes will die to a well placed grenade or a few rounds to the face." He gave a goofy sounding laugh. "Me? I can turn myself invisible. And I'm a damn good shot if I say so myself! I'll show you sometime. I'll let the others tell you about themselves. We've got some training planned for you in a couple days once you have your room sorted out and shit."

"I've got a question."

"Well, Shoot then."

"Will we be operating solely in foreign countries? Anything domestic? Is this the only group of powered soldiers?"

"Woah, asking the tough questions aren't you? I shouldn't really tell you before you've completed all your entry training but I'll tell you anyway. I have no doubt you'll pass. We do operate in the states some. If there's an endbringer attack, there's no doubt that we'll show up. And when there's a kill order on a nearby cape we may be tasked out. And in public emergencies. We usually stay out of public eye as much as possible. I mean our methods are not exactly kosher in the cape world if catch my drift."

"I can imagine."

"And to answer your other question: It's definitely classified. It's way above my paygrade. But between you and me, I'm pretty sure there are at least two other task forces similar to ours. I mean, if they are out there, the higher ups have done a hell of a job compartmentalizing us, probably to our detriment if anything. But come on. How could there not be? How could the DoD not have an Intelligence Community of Thinkers?" He was talking so casually about all this. Like me was discussing his pet. As he drove down the wide roads of the base, past similarly styled buildings towards an airfield. He had read that this airfield was abnormally large for what was housed there. Long enough to land a Space Shuttle. From what he could tell, all they flew out of the airfield was C-17s C-130s and various rotary wing aircraft that didn't even need a runway.

Along the way, Sergeant Reed pointed out to Scott the Post Exchange, the post office, the Dining Facility, and the medical clinic. Scott couldn't help but notice how few people seemed to be out and about. It was a very spread out base with lots of greenery. Some parts of the base were old and dilapidated, ready for demolition for probably more than ten years and others were pristine. The Charlie Company building was one such building. Not modern in design but definitely not old. It was far away from the Alpha and Bravo Company buildings, almost a half mile, but not far from where his barracks were to be.

"And here is where we meet for work call at 0900. Some of the time you'll have training scheduled elsewhere but this is pretty much where you'll spend most of your time. Luckily for us, we have a gym by our office in the basement with plenty of space for training. Haha!" His smile was as infectious as is was foreboding at least for Scott. He suspected he would not enjoy this "training" quite as much as Sergeant Reed.


	5. Chapter 5

-STAYSHADY-

Scott had come to a few conclusions after his experience with Abu Hassan. All men had a capacity for evil. No man could be truly good. To kill a helpless man, one who surrendered fleeing and unarmed, is an act of an evil man. It was an act of a man with no remorse. He was frightened by the ease he had killed. How easy it was to throw away his morals and become consumed by the violence. He realized that he too was monstrous. Even without his friend from the edge of the Void, he was capable of evil. In the moment, he had justified himself. _These men are evil. The world does not need evil._ But were they truly? Had they been extorted or intimidated into service? It had been unnecessary to kill the helpless men. They could have been imprisoned, exploited for intelligence but left alive. They were no threat to Scott at all. His justifications felt weaker and weaker. Scott thought he should feel shame and pain for the things he did, but he could only muster up a sense of numbness. In those moments he was nobody's hero. He was but a terrified, panicked animal. And maybe he always was an animal.

-STAYSHADY-

As Scott entered the Company headquarters, he was surprised at how ordinary the place appeared. The worn, yet viscously clean surfaces of the floors and the stench of bleach intermingling with pine sol wafting from the bathrooms brought him back to his early days in South Carolina, before he was qualified to fly. When his job could have been done by any unskilled laborer, probably even a child. The lights were harsh and the only people he had seen so far were some civilians working in an office and a soldier manning the front desk.

Scott was quickly introduced to a few of his future coworkers, all waiting to for the clock to strike 1700. They seemed mildly interested in him. Three males and one female. There was not much time to talk as they soon left and told him they'd be spending time together soon. That had been SPC Williams. Scott thought they seemed nice enough. He was marched to the Commander's suite, where Captain Gardner was plucking away at his computer.

"Sir, we've got our new guy here." Sergeant Reed called out to him from outside the commander's office.

Without looking up the Captain responded, "Send him in. You can go home if you're done, Perry." Scott was motioned to sit on a chair in front of the desk. "Welcome to Team Green Wings. I must say, we've been pretty excited to get a guy with your record."

"It's a pleasure to be here, sir."

"I just wanted to give you a little talk before we really get into your progression. Once that starts, you'll have almost no time to do anything else. But you'll have a great time, I'm sure." He gave himself a smirk as he turned back to his computer and started back with his work. He seemed distracted and slightly disturbed and he began speaking again after a long moment

"It is false to say that the power of a soldier comes from the quality of his equipment. The truth is that a man's power comes from his violence. His speed and brutality. A bullet is a bullet. A rifle just that: a tool. The difference in effectiveness comes from the strength of the soldier behind the weapon. How good of a shot is he? How far can he run? How well can he move under fire? How much shit can he carry? To what lengths will he go to destroy his enemy? But most importantly… how much is he willing to sacrifice? That's what this job is all about, you know. Sacrifice."

Scott understood. He did not sacrifice quite as much as most of his fellows. He never left a child, or a wife. He didn't think he knew that pain. His responsibilities lied almost entirely in his job, to himself and his fellows. Nobody else depended on him. His death would devastate his sister and his father, but they would move on. They did not truly need him. He believed his sacrifice was not quite as meaningful.

"But enough of that. We're gonna train you on some weapons and generally make sure you're not retarded. And we'll spend some time with our Combatives trainer. After a bit we'll start you on your Progression. You'll need a lot of individual training before we can send you out on mission or even on training with the rest of your team. I'll expect a perfect score on weapons qual and PT tests within 90 days. If you fail to do that by yourself, I doubt you'll like the way I'll motivate you."

That would be quite troublesome. Extra physical conditioning. He'd have to cut his run time by almost an entire minute and spend a lot of time just working on his fitness.

"We've found a trainer for you. He's got quite a bit of experience in training soldiers. He's a normie like me, but I dare say he's got enough skill to put quite a few capes in the ground. He'll teach you how to he a real soldier. You won't be some glorified fucking photographer for much longer."

-SHADY-

Master Sergeant Sweeney was a very large man. His hulking mass made Scott look even more twig-like by comparison. He was younger than many of the same rank, maybe mid thirties. He was bald and clean shaven. His uniform indicated very specialized training specific to Special Forces.

"This is not my first assignment to teach one of you weirdo fucks. But for shit's sake we got a lot to work on. You look like you'll blow away in the breeze."

In reality, Scott had gained quite a bit of weight since he had joined the military. He had quite a bit of trouble gaining weight. If he faltered for even a short amount of time, he'd begin to lose weight and muscle mass. It was a constant battle.

They started started the very next day. He got in a government car as Sweeney drove him to a PT track and administered a standard PT test. And then a second one right after the first. After he was given _corrective training_ for failing the second one, he was taken to one of the ranges on post where he was tested on everything from the M2 machine gun the dinky (by comparison) M9 pistol. It was very strange, one person hogging an entire lane for nearly 4 hours while whole battalions came out to shoot on 4 or 5 lanes. But, damn, was shooting not one of the most fun parts of playing army.

"I must say, you're not a totally hopeless shot. But we've got to fix your weight and PT scores. By the time I'm done with you you'll be pushing 190 and maxing your score every time."

 _Damn that's almost 40 pounds! How could that even be possible?_ Scott was at the same time dubius and very apprehensive.

"Meet me at 0600 by the Company and don't have any breakfast. Yeah, we're gonna have some fun for the next while."

-SHADY-

He spent perhaps 12 to 15 hours a day, 6 days a week training with the Master Sergeant in one form or another. They spent time on the various obstacle courses, on the firing ranges, doing ridiculous training drills, and combatives. Some days he was brought to the beach where he would run almost endlessly only to be told to run into the freezing waves and roll around in the sand or just swim parallel to the shore. He was sent into the forests surrounding the FTX sites for days at a time with limited food and water, and given a near impossible objective that required constant vigilance and very little sleep with Master Sergeant Sweeney sometimes giving chase. He was put into training sessions run by the 11 SF Group like long ruck marches, advanced marksman courses and counterterrorism techniques. But he was also taught other things. Field medicine, offensive driving, and even stealth and stalking techniques.

Sometimes Sweeney would sit him down for a relaxing hour or two and give Scott a crash course in some soldier skill or another. He was taught a few counterintelligence techniques, but seeing as his background in MI had already covered that for the most part, it was a short class. All the while scott was on a diet where he was required to eat an uncomfortable amount 4 times a day and end the day with a grueling session in the gym, on top of the other stressors throughout the day.

His body had never felt stress like this. He began to feel a kind of hatred for Sweeney. It was difficult to argue with the results though. Every day was a struggle. Scott was impressed how quickly his body and skill was improving. He was gaining lean weight. His body was becoming faster, heavier, stronger, and tougher.

One day, after 8 weeks of painful, yet visibly fruitful training, he was given a mask. He was told that it was the mark of a member of task force Green Wings. It was a deep green, nearly black resembling a conventional gas mask. It had dual removable canisters on each side of the face and dark lenses that provided a wide range of vision. It was menacing. It had a significant effect on Scott's ability to use a rifle while wearing it because he could no longer put his cheek directly on the stock. It took quite a bit of practice to properly and consistently compensate by tilting the rifle to the side in order to align the sights. When he was in his full kit, he was covered from head to toe with protective equipment. Ballistic plates on his chest and back held by a vest fitted with magazine and grenade pouches. An unmounted M320 grenade launcher in a thigh holster (with which he could pinpoint a moving target from up to 400 meters away) and gloves. He looked almost alien all kitted up. The rifle is as much a long ranged weapon as it is a melee weapon in proper hands even without an attached bayonet. A good muzzle thump to the skull will put down anyone but a Brute.

During the time he spent training with the Master Sergeant (a process they insisted on calling _progression_ but really it was a too-long, hellish crucible) Scott had almost no contact with the rest of the team. He began to suspect they were avoiding him. It was entirely possible that they were waiting for him to finish whatever the hell he was doing with Master Sergeant Sweeney before they accepted him as a true member of the team.

Progress with the ritual was slow. He only had so much time between eating and sleeping and his excursions with the esteemed Master Sergeant. Scott would diligently meditate and write his findings during the short windows of privacy allotted to him. It was a complex procedure. And very dangerous. He did not know what would happen once the ritual was complete nor was he certain he could keep himself alive for the duration of the ritual. If completing the ritual did not automatically reseal his skull or somehow heal him, it was entirely possible he would die. Were that to be the case, he trusted Lilian to get him help.

-SHADY-

Scott was almost done with his Progression. Only a few more days of training and tests would release him into the loving arms of Team Green Wings. He was finally ready to perform the ritual on a Saturday night. He could only hope that a single day would be all he'd need to recover and nobody would notice anything was amiss. Standing in room and taking a final look at his notes he crouched down to the ground reverently.

He started by drawing on the concrete floor. He had torn up the linoleum of his room carefully so he could replace it once he was done. He was drawing in charcoal on the surface. He had sheets of notes spread around the circle, with both unintelligible scrawl and plain english. He very carefully measured and drew out a circle made of symbols that might have been a language had each character not been entirely unique. As Scott drew each section, he could sense something foreboding in the back of his mind, like he was being influenced by a drug. A disconnect from what was happening. His hands moving by themselves and sounds spilling unbidden out of his mouth. Yogorzabothl stood by, still and quiet. Knowing exactly what would happen. Not daring to interrupt. He was already beginning to transform. He was coming close to the point of no return. Soon he could not stop.

He voiced furious shouts and scratched out violent scribbles. Scott's sweat soaking his clothes and dripping to the charcoal stained concrete. He grabbed at his clothes and tore them free of his body, his fingers leaving marks on his skin where he grabbed his flesh in his frenzy to be naked. Scott was tingling all over. He felt dread and pleasure like a blanket. He liked the way his fingers had dug into his skin. He began to claw at his chest, leaving bloody scrapes that trickled blood down his body, squeaking in his pleasure between bursts of otherworldly phrases. He began to stamp his feet hard against the floor over the charcoal drawings, his shouts becoming disgustingly melodic as though he were singing.

But Scott was lost. He was aware that he was close to something quite beautiful and awful. His body's sensations were alien, like his body wasn't even his. His pain was pleasing someone other than himself. His feet were stamping so hard, his bones were fracturing and he began moving his arms in destructive thrashes against his body. His muscles twitched so violently they strained and tore. He bit his tongue and gargled on fluid. He danced to the beat of his pounding feet and the noise of his guttural chanting, flailing wildly and grossly contorting his body.

He had never been so terrified and excited in his life. The pleasure, the power, the Knowledge was but moments away.

A milky white sphere appeared over Scott's head. He could not see it but he could sense it, like a limb out of sight. It was the size of an orange and brought with it a rotten scent. He did not notice it but he stilled, feeling a primal terror as old as time. It grew to the size of the charcoal surface still just over Scott's head and leaked a pale miasma. The cloud writhed in its colorful pursuit of Scott's body. It touched his head just above his forehead and burned away his hair. He shouted in equal parts pain and pleasure as his skin burned to the bone of his skull and his skull to his brain. The miasma was sucked into Scott's skull and turned the visible bits of his brain black and waxy. Scott seemed to lose touch of the pleasure and pain of his body, for he stilled and sucked in breath through his wet mouth and choked on the blood in his lungs. His eyes were white as the presence above his head and he spasmed as though electrocuted. Black sparks spun between his fingers and flashed in his open mouth.

He instantly was conscious of every electric impulse travelling through his nervous system. It was like an immense tide of sensation, his pleasure immediately heightening. He was momentarily transfixed with the mechanics of the human physiology. It was a beautiful, directionless and unnecessarily complex machine.

The moment he saw it he wished he had not. It encompassed it's entire dimension, bleeding into reality only in the opening in his brain. The thing was the size of infinite universes, with as many eyes and mouths. The creator of existence, the father of gods took dumb notice of him. A mere unthinking glance in its hideous unconscious mind, but it was enough to trigger catastrophe and miracles across worlds alike. But it was on Scott. Only Scott. The thing was slumbering. It was the Blind Idiot God. And he was dreaming. He was dreaming since time began, since the cosmos were birthed and gods sprung from his garden. Scott saw Earth against the backdrop of the black of the universe. It was nothing. It was all nothing. His love, his people, his hate, his strength… All nothing. It would disappear in a moment. All the beings in the universe were a piece of something infinitely less significant than a spec to their creator. He saw how small and short he would burn. How existence was but an instant. God would wake and destroy it all with a thought.

He felt the tremble of it's terrible presence and he felt despair. It would sooner crush him than acknowledge him. He knew his role. The ending would always be the same. It would end with his death, his family's death, the extinction of the human race and all life on earth, the dispersal of the universe and the death of every star, every light extinguished. The universe would die with the awakening of God.

It was over. Scott fell to the ground, his strings cut. Black sparks fizzling through his body and feeling returning to him. A deep ache permeated his head and he knew he had to do something quick or he'd have permanent brain damage. He opened his mouth but could not speak. He choked on a sob and began to shake as he collapsed onto his back. He no longer cared if he were to die. The pain of his body distracted him from his terrible thoughts. Maybe if his brain was damaged enough, he would forget his vision of the creator.

-SHADY-

When Scott awoke in a hospital, he felt despair seep into his thoughts. He felt slow. Like his body was submerged in liquid. He could see Lilian in her human form despite the darkness of his room. His head and body seemed to buzz with electricity.

"Lilian. Lilian!" There was a subdued desperation in his voice.

"Lie still, Scott." His companion was soon standing beside his bed, reaching her hands to steady his fidgeting.

"Why did you do this to me! I wish I would die. What have you done to me?!"

"You found what you wanted. The truth, Scott. You know now, and will not forget."

Scott lay still and cried. It was what he had asked for. He felt his anger ebb into sadness.

"But you have found vitality. You healed your wounds in your sleep, Scott. You have found a great strength as well. You will not feel this way forever, I promise."

"That is not true. I _know_ it's not true."

Yagorzabothl took Scott's hands in hers and reached for his familiar presence. It was different now. Older, more dangerous and hateful. It contained a new depth reflecting the old Scott yet fundamentally different. She basked in it.

Scott could feel her presence keenly. He recognized the deep pain he had felt in her before, only now knowing what it was. She felt it too? It would only make sense. But she seemed more beautiful than before. Stronger. Her mind an open book to him. Her memories and feelings washed him. They were no longer so alien. He understood what she was and where her species came from, how they communicated through touch and telepathy. He could understand her reasoning for answering his weak call for help. How much she _loved_.

The revelation brought tears to his eyes and the pit in his stomach ached less sharply. He could see her human form, in all its marvelous intricacies and beyond it. The invisible symmetry of her natural form, how similar it was to his. It made him weak. His eyes met hers and he understood her in a way he could not understand himself. She was alone and in constant despair. She was immersed in a pain he was now at least familiar with. And she loved him. It was an awful realization that he realized he might love her as well. He was a being wholly unworthy of her attention and yet, here she was, looking at him with inhuman eyes and holding his head.

Later in the morning, after a slew of nurses and a couple doctors, Sergeant Reed came to see him.

He touched his scalp feeling the thin, corded scar where he had once had a hole as he stared at Sergeant Reed. It might have been a leaf or a tree inscribed in a circle. It was a line with five branches. _The Elder Sign_ , Lilian had called it. It was used to ward off the Evil beings of the universe in her old culture. It was actually an expression of cosmic power, that sometimes scared off extra dimensional beings. It was a faint mark just above his forehead.

"You've got to tell me what happened, dude. I can't help you if I don't know what the hell is going on." Sergeant Reed was sitting in a chair near his hospital bed. He had been healed only a day previous by a cape. He had somehow not sustained any brain damage, and the healer managed to mend the hole in his skull, aside from the odd mark adorning his head. He was still bald though, to Scott's annoyance. He'd be allowed to leave soon.

"I'm sorry I'm causing you so much trouble…"

"Dude, cut the shit. This is my job, just like you have yours. Just talk to me."

"It was about my power. A kind of sacrifice."

"What, like some voodoo magic? Are you stupid!? You could have died!"

"I understand. But you've got to understand, this was a success for me. I achieved my goal."

"I need more than that! You're not making sense."

"You know the monster I summon?"

"Yes."

"She's more complex than you think. She is sentient, complete with a personality. Her existence is not a result of my power, only her presence."

"So it's… an alien? You bring her here from her home?"

"Yes. She's from very far away. She talks to me. My power has her devoted to me and me to her. She told me of a way to gain true power. A way for a being to become… more."

"What does that mean, more?"

"I don't know, divine? Extrasensory? Cosmic? I can't really say. But it showed me things. Like a really bad trip. I saw things I wish I didn't. But it left me with a kind of power."

"Let me see if I understand you correctly. Your alien summon talks to you and told you to mutilate yourself in pursuit of more power?"

Scott looked subdued and slightly ashamed of himself. "Um, I guess? It's more complicated than that though. It really did me something new. I know it was dangerous, but I think it's given me the tools to be of more use to the team."  
"How? How could you think that giving yourself deadly head trauma would do anything but fucking kill you!?"

Scott wilted a little under his superior's angry tone and accusing stare. "I haven't explored the limits but I can use by body to conduct electrical energy through my nervous system and out my body. I'm not sure how it works, only that I can sense and affect the electrical impulses through my nervous system. My brain is like a battery and my body the thing it's powering. I can't explain it better than that right now."

"I don't really understand what you're talking about. What can you do now that you couldn't before? Something useful, I fucking hope?"

Instead of speaking, Scott held his hands up and put them close together. A loud spark of electricity cracked between his hands bringing with it the stench of ozone.

"Fuck me. Why didn't you just start with that?"


	6. Chapter 6

_/sfsfsfsfsf/_

Germany's evolution into a socialist state was gradual. It started with benign government mandates and regulation and changes in immigration policy. Between 1998 and 2002, 3.5 million non-white Muslims immigrated to Germany due to open invitation to foreigners by liberal leaders. The majority were Muslims and they did not assimilate to western culture. They brought their culture with them and lived in enclaves. Sections of Cities were unsafe for native Germans. Women were kidnapped and raped and girls were sold into sexual slavery by immigrant gangs. Terror attacks increased. Areas in once prosperous Frankfurt and Berlin were wholly abandoned by police.

The Elites of Germany appeared to not care as the poor whites of Germany were suddenly surrounded by gang violence and Islamic terrorism. It was not reported in the media. When a major terror attack occurred they never blamed Islamic Terror. They blamed lax gun laws. They blamed toxic masculinity. They blamed native Germans for not accommodating the Immigrants better. Mayors were no longer ethnic Germans. The common white man was strongly discontent with how their once proud Germany was now ravaged by foreign criminals. The was a strong sentiment among native germans to deport the foreigners. Some wanted to kill them. There was a push in anti-muslim and anti-immigrant sentiment. Nationalism and racial divisions were on the rise. In the German election in 2003 Kurt V. Koch, a socialist, was elected to the position of prime minister. He ran on the promise to make Germany a proud nation and to fix the 'immigration problem.' Koch began the systemic execution of suspected non-white criminals and increasing his power over the German government. He nationalized the major corporations in the country and cut all foreign aid and threatened to pull out of NATO. Koch solidified his position as the absolute leader of Germany in 2005. He created a police state that had no compunctions about using violence against immigrants and political dissidents.

Koch wanted to rule Europe. He wanted to keep the Muslims out of his country and the rest of Europe. He feared his culture would die in the invasion. He saw the mass immigration as an invasion and he squashed the invaders with impunity. He believed them sub-human. A sentiment that had been growing among the native German population. Koch was beloved among the Germans as a man of the people. An honest, hard-working man from humble beginnings.

France and the UK had similar issues with mass immigration but eventually adopted the policy of deporting prisoners back to Africa and heavily increasing the powers bestowed to lawmen. An unpopular decision at the time, but ultimately considered necessary among Europeans.

The DoD and the CIA began operations in Germany following the election of Socialist dictator Kurt Koch. Nothing kinetic, mostly intelligence gathering and infiltration. The ultimate plan was to assassinate Kurt Koch. They uncovered crimes committed by the state against non-whites. It was a genocide with the intent to eradicate all African Muslims from the continent. He likened it to a Holy War waged by God's champions against the blasphemers. Koch considered himself a classic Eugenicist along the same vein as Woodrow Wilson and Margaret Sanger.

The DoD was in a quandary. What was to be done? War with a nuclear power? Another Cold War? Socialist nation's and others with planned economies often didn't last long before becoming a failed state. But occasionally they ride the economic wave of war and nationalism and become powerful enough to threaten the world.

It is not common knowledge that the Army does covert operations in Germany. That type of stuff happened far more often than many likely thought. There were groups that openly recruited from the regular army. Undercover operations and electronic surveillance mostly. But some were active sabetours. Some were moles. Some were positioning themselves for the perfect moment to destroy Koch's Germany, not in a pitched battle but poisoned coffee or a knife in the neck.

Sergeant Perry Reed and Scott were walking towards the Commander's office. Scott had been released from the hospital. His bald head proudly displayed his mark.

"The Protectorate and the PRT are wastes. Those people have no balls. No idea what good they can do for our country. They are more a tool for the government than useful human beings. I tell ya Scott, there is no such thing as a real hero. Everybody is just fucked."

"Sure thing, Sergeant." Both walked into the Commander's office and noticed Captain Gardner was not looking happy. "Sir."

"Ah! Yeah, come in you two. I've got some news for you two. Let's get into the conference room for a moment." Scott knew that using the conference room was reserved for classified briefs and contained no unauthorized electronics. No windows and no cameras.

"Empire 88 has been getting a little bit of foreign influence. From what we've gathered members have been visiting germany and getting some kind of specialized training and indoctrination. At this point we're almost certain that at least the Brockton Bay branch of Empire 88 is operating as a foreign agent for Germany. As you know this makes it a matter for the CIA and subsequently us to deal with."

"This domestic assignment will be a bit different from what we're used to. Most of what you'll do is just do what the CIA delegates tell us to do. I don't have the clearance to know what they're going to do. I've planned to send the two of you to help out. Reed I expect you to teach Hebert here how we operate and for the love of god do not embarrass me in front of the Feds. I like our close relationship where it is."

A switch seemed to flip in Reed. He was now the picture of seriousness. "Sir, will we be relocating to Brockton Bay for this?"

"You will. I mean, I can't expect you to commute there and back every day. You will be leaving in 48 hours by TMP. You'll be dropped off and a Fed will be there to pick you up. I'm, not sure how long you'll have to be there or if I'll be sending any more. That's up to the Feds and how much they like you. Here I've got you a packing list. Don't be late." Scott knew the CIA was not what it used to be. When it first began operating, they strictly carried out intelligence gathering missions. At the beginning of the war on terror, they were freed from their leash and acted as judge, jury and executioner for any foreign agent deemed dangerous. Among intel soldiers they were known for having the most elite group of operators akin to SEAL team 6 or DELTA force. They were the literal knife in the dark. He had never heard of the CIA operating domestically. That was supposed to be a job for the FBI and Homeland Security, Not the DoD.

"Yes, sir."

As the two were leaving the Commander's office, Scott turned to Reed. "Has this sort of thing happened before? Getting random assignments Stateside on really short notice?"

"Yeah. It's not common but it happens. Now shut your trap about it."

Mollified, Scott kept quiet and went about gathering his things for his new assignment. He knew people all over Brockton Bay. His family lived there as well. He wasn't sure if it was a problem or not so he kept quiet about it. The Commander probably had already considered it when he was picked. He was internally quite excited. He'd get the chance to fight again! He could make the streets of his hometown safer for his family as well. Putting that training to use would be a welcome change.

 _/sfsfsfsfsf/_

As Scott lay in his bed that night, he was amazed at what he could see with his eyes closed. He could feel the electrical impulses from the other nervous systems in the building. He could not differentiate between people and he doubted he ever could, but sensing warm bodies would probably prove invaluable. He hardly ever spoke to Lilian anymore. He merely had to think and listen to communicate with her. He didn't need to summon her physical form in order to hear her either. He had practiced with his eletrokinesis but he'd only managed loud shocks from about six inches away from his body. They were quite effective jolts for stunning but they weren't prolonged enough to really cause too much damage. It was like a shock of static electricity.

He was teetering on the edge of sleep when he heard a loud shout from outside.

He quickly stood up and looked out the window. In the parking lot were four men surrounding a fifth. The four looked to be civilians from their long hair. But the fifth was definitely a drunk Sergeant Reed. He was swaying between punches and seemed to give halfhearted swings in return that didn't land. He looked a bit roughed up.

Scott looked for a half-second more in utter confusion before he ran out the door and onto the parking lot barefooted. The civilians didn't notice the front door of the barracks opening. Scott sprinted straight towards the small crowd and tackled one of them, knocking him hard into the ground. Scott quickly spun to face another one and lashed out with a kick to the next one's gut. The group turned to face Scott.

"Oh look, he's got a Nazi buddy!"

"You're fucking dead!"

They were likely in college, given their fairly nice clothes. At least probably not gangsters.

Scott was not in the mood to share opinions and quickly moved on one with his fists. They weren't prepared for the savage assault and quickly took several strait punches to the face before falling to the ground. Another one went for Scott's legs and lifted him off the ground. Scott grabbed him around the neck and squeezed with one arm and punched him in the side with the other, aiming for a liver shot. It was only a moment before they both went down to the concrete. While still on the ground Scott swung his knee at his attacker's head and was quite satisfied with the dull thud the skull made. Scott let out a laugh as he gave another kick to the downed guy's body.

Scott saw stars as he was hit in the side of his head before he could stand up properly. He let out a whoop as he ran at the one who sent the punch and jabbed him in the throat followed by a punch to the jaw. Scott winced through his smile as his knuckles hit a tooth and the attacker choked a bit on the tooth knocked back into his mouth. Scott grabbed a slow punch and savagely twisted the arm, dislocating the shoulder. His scream was cut short by a strike to the chin and he fell bonelessly to the ground after Scott released him.

Reed was standing off to the side having knocked out the one that remained. "Ah fuck, that was fun! I knew I was going to have a bit of trouble with that one."

"You did this shit on purpose?"

"No, no. nothing like that. I was just talking a bit of shit at the bar and they followed me back to the Barracks. They really were some pussies." He accentuated his claim with a kick to man's side.

"Yeah. what are we gonna do now, huh? Do we call an ambulance?" The adrenaline was still pumping through his head. He has getting a bit nervous. People often got into trouble for fighting with civilians.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea. You got them pretty good. Good show soldier! Hell yeah!"

Calling an ambulance with one of the four's cell phone was easy. They didn't wait for the ambulance on the scene. They watched from inside to make sure they were picked up.

"You think the commander will hear about this?"

"Definitely. Those guys will file a police report and the MPs will come to talk the Commander. But he'll tell them to fuck off. This probably won't come back to us. I doubt it'll even affect our assignment."

 _/sfsfsfsfsf/_

Scott had spent most of his life weak. He was thin and unintimidating. He had been bullied at the start of high school. He did try to fight back, and in his own opinion, he dealt them quite a bit of humiliation through pranks. It actually wasn't the fighting back that made them stop. That part had only made him feel better. What had actually stopped the bullies was his new friends. His father had called them "the wrong crowd" and Scott knew he could not really say any differently. They did drugs and did poorly in school. But Scott didn't care. The tables had turned on his bullies. This new group did not take kindly to having one of their own being picked on.

Leonard Odom was a large boy for his age. He was also quite dirty with long, stringy hair and unwashed clothes. He barely passed his classes. He lived in a run down part of Brockton Bay. More importantly he knew how to fight. He was considered a reject by the rest of the school. No self respecting girl would ever talk to him. He was a fat nerd who didn't ever try at anything except Pokemon and D&D. But he wasn't weak. He had a beefy strength only a Two-hundred and Thirty pound boy can claim. He didn't even need to close his fist to lay guys out. Scott and Lenny hung out with 3 or 4 other similarly rejected boys in and out of school. Scott had to admit they were all fucking weirdos. Scott knew he stood out even among them. He was in the advanced classes and he tried in school, at least more than his fellows. He was well groomed and always had clean clothes.

He knew his old buddies would only bring him down. By senior year he hung out with them less and less, embarrassed by their disregard for their futures and physical appearance. He made new friends with sports teams and he lost his 'reject' status.

 _/sfsfsfsfsf/_

A/N

Yeah, I know it took me a while to pick this back up. Can't say it won't happen again. Work has a way of crushing the life out of me that's only cured by a night of drinking out on the town.

Pro tip: don't do shots of Kraken. Instant puke juice, I swear. Or Tequila for that matter.


End file.
